


Lifeline

by BlueOnyx



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic Park III (2001)
Genre: Alan's Hat, Angst, Canon Compliant, Injury, Interpretation of Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOnyx/pseuds/BlueOnyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories flashed, of hot, bitter dust and cold beer, of fiery gazes and a warm, steady hand on his shoulder. All of it seemed to drive away the physical pain for a second, only to rebound stronger and with it, crushing regret. He'd ruined the one good thing in his life, and here he was, dying, with no chance to make amends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> An interpretation of the end of the movie, from Billy's perspective.

  


  


_Hang on, Billy!_ The words were branded in his mind, even after they had echoed and faded through the canyon—even after he'd shouted for them to save themselves, seeing Alan's struggling figure through the blur of water running down his face.

Utterly lost in the attack, his head was once again engulfed in the cool torrent.

Already Billy was slipping away—not only physically—but mentally, a direct result of the searing pain and sheer horror flooding through his body. It was too much for his mind to take, but still he wrestled the beaks and the sharp stabs, the even sharper talons piercing and tearing his skin like paper, fought the urge to give up and fade away entirely. 

He briefly resurfaced only to hear nothing but splashing and beating wings, squawks mingled with his own strangled screams. He tried to call out to Alan, but only the river listened as he plunged back down, choking on the name. Hopefully that meant he'd gotten away, that at least he'd survived.

Billy was suddenly pulled deep, caught in the undercurrent of a sharp drop in the river bottom. With a last, blurred look upwards, he saw the fray on the surface a few feet above his head, talons slicing but finding no purchase in the water.

The claws disappeared and the ripples from wings ceased, and everything went black.

  


**______________**

  


There was a circle above him. _Hm, the sun_ , he thought.

Billy blinked slowly. _No, wait._ That wasn't right. The sun was light—this. . . this was dark. 

His eyes managed to focus on the dark circle for a small moment, but the reality of the object continued to elude him.

He was drifting, and the circle was drifting too, with him, above him. That was nice. He was glad that at least something had decided to keep him company as his lungs burned his body into oblivion.

_Billy, you're dying_ , he heard someone say. A voice, almost like Alan's, but somehow not. How unfair was it, that he couldn't even hear that comforting rumble before he was truly gone? 

As if from some distance, he felt the sensation of his body slowly rising to the surface.

_You're almost there, if you can reach it. I know you can. Billy, **reach!**_

His hand closed around a dark, round edge, taking a fistful of the circle and a second later, a deep breath of warm, humid air.

Sputtering water from his mouth, he took another gulp of air and the burning in his lungs eased. Unfortunately, the rest of him was still on fire.

Billy tried not to imagine what was wrong with him. He knew that it was wasn't pretty, he only hoped that his limbs weren't too mangled. If he had one last wish, it was for Alan not to see something awful if he managed to find his body. A vision flashed of Alan putting his fingers on Billy's eyelids to cover the dead, unfocused brown eyes. Alan was _crying_ —Alan never cried.

His heart tightened, adding to the agony.

The river took him along for a ride, bobbing him steadily downstream. It would have been peaceful, almost relaxing, if he could somehow forget the pain. 

The pain, however, seemed to be making him forget _himself_. Billy was sure he would lose consciousness, maybe for good this time. He almost welcomed it. If it meant his suffering would stop. . .

His breathing slowed and he finally inhaled through his nostrils.

_That_ woke him right up. 

His eyes flew open, giving him the first view since the bottom of the river, now up at the bright blue sky and vine-threaded trees stretching out over the water.

"Alan! _Alan_?" he managed to vocalize. But like in a nightmare, it was a yell muffled into a whisper. He tried to turn his neck, to see if Alan were on the bank or, for some wild reason, in the river with him, but pain shot through it like lightning and he couldn't move.

_Just hang on, Billy, I'm right here with you_ , the voice echoed again.

Something compelled him to roll his eyes down to look at his chest.

There it was, Alan's hat. Sopping wet, locked in a white-knuckle grip, it was with him. Now that he could see where his hand was, the feeling seemed to distinguish itself from the noise of screaming nerves. Soaked felt was never pleasant to touch, but here in his fingers, it was just right.

The heat of the day had released some of the moisture that clung to the fibers, and that is what had stirred Alan's scent into the air. Billy breathed deeply, savouring it, _worshipping_  it with everything he had left.

Memories flashed, of hot, bitter dust and cold beer, of fiery gazes and a warm, steady hand on his shoulder. All of it seemed to drive away the physical pain for a second, only to rebound stronger and with it, crushing regret. He'd ruined the one good thing in his life, and here he was, dying, with no chance to make amends.

No. He was alive. And he had to stay that way—he couldn't let Alan down again.

His thoughts lingered on Alan. Where was he now? Had he made it to the coast yet, or was he—?

Billy hissed audibly. He'd never been one to dwell on morbid thoughts, it wasn't in his nature. And if he were to make it the rest of the way downriver, he had to believe there was something waiting for him at the end. Some _one_.

  


**______________**

  


Eventually a question coalesced in his addled mind, originating from a vague sense of danger coursing through his veins.

_Where were the dinosaurs?_

He was still alive, so very vulnerable, and they were still hungry. So where were they? 

Maybe they thought he was dead, but that wouldn't stop the scavengers. . . Maybe he smelled bad, tasted bad now that his body had been ruined, but no, of course not. It didn't make a lick of sense and he had no remaining energy to come up with an answer. He was only glad that they stayed away.

The sky was darkening, of that he was sure. He dozed, drifting in and out of half-consciousness and near-sleep, but never quite letting himself fall over the edge into the abyss.

It helped immensely that his fingers could move. He had even managed to locate and enlist his left hand to help hold the hat, grateful that he had not one, but both hands intact. Instead of a death grip, they now kept it firm, letting two or three fingers relax enough to stroke the tight, thick felt, imagining it to be a certain tanned cheek. Focusing on the tactile sensation, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the image of a crinkled smile he knew so well. 

When he opened them again, the sun had long since sunk behind the trees. True darkness was fast approaching—night fell much quicker in the thick of the jungle than on the coast. Billy hoped that the banks would thin out soon, that the shadowy leaves above him would disappear, for that would mean the coast wasn't far off.

He felt his mind shutting down when true darkness had closed around him at last. Despite his determination to stay alive for Alan, he was damned surprised that he'd made it so far.

His wounds, sharper and more defined now that time and shock had passed, felt warm against the cold river. He was sure that he was bleeding out, had been the entire time, and now that the heat of the day had evaporated, his body wracked with shivers. It was more than all of that—he was turning _cold_ , probably for the last time.

Billy hardly noticed when a crack of thunder clapped overhead, when the rain came pouring down to soak the few spots that had managed to halfway dry out. Drops pelted his eyelids and found their way up his nostrils as his breathing grew ragged, nearly inhaling water but not being able to care.

At least his death meant something. Eric was saved, and maybe they'd made it by now. Maybe Alan would forgive him, someday.

He kept his useless eyes sealed shut against the storm. His heart pounded hard, beating in his ears. He wondered just when it would stop. 

Harder and harder. And then it did.

_I'm sorry, Alan. I've let you down, again. I tried, I only did what I did. . . with the best intentions._

  


**______________**

  


The sun was bright on the jagged outcropping, a chorus of insects ringing out across the barren landscape. Heat, sweltering heat, shimmered up from the sand as sweat trickled down Billy's throat.

A screech echoed from above, and Billy looked for the origin of the sound. He craned his neck, finding it didn't hurt at all to do so.

It was a blackbird, that much he could tell. As it swooped lower, Billy caught a glimpse of orange amongst the black feathers. A red-winged blackbird, all alone.

"What are you doing out here, buddy?" he wondered aloud. "There's no one else. There's no one else."

He found himself repeating the question and the phrase, over and over, until suddenly, the question changed. And now he sounded kinda rude.

"Where is Dr. Grant?" he demanded to himself.

_Like hell I know_ , he told himself. _Have you checked inside his trailer?_

In a softer tone he asked, "Sir, can you hear me?"

It was all so _annoying_. Tired of the questions, Billy looked up to the sky again to find where the soaring bird had gotten to.

He spied it directly above. With a crackling caw, the blackbird dove, taking the sun with him, straight into Billy's eyes.

  


**______________**

  


The flashlight clicked off, a pair of gloved fingers leaving Billy's face.

"It's a miracle he's still alive. Where is that goddamn stretcher?"

"Here, sir."

Billy felt hard slats against his sides, digging below him and through the wet sand until they met and locked together. He woke up a little more with the odd feeling of being lifted and carried. Still the voices were talking.

A gruffer one spoke up next as Billy began to move fast. "How do you think he made it, then?"

"The river. Cold water, slowing metabolism and stemming the bleeding."

"And no sign of anybody else?"

A different voice. "No, sir."

_Shit. Alan_. Billy felt his stomach twist, and it had nothing to do with his wounds.

"Secure the perimeter. Medic?"

"We've got him, he'll be okay."

But Billy couldn't seem to move, nor did he get very far trying to open his eyes. Someone was fiddling with his shirt. No, not just his shirt. He felt a sharp tugging sensation somewhere on his body.

"He's not letting go, sir." Billy's lips, the one thing he could seem to control, quirked when he remembered— _the hat_.

He couldn't move his cold fingers even if he wanted to. And he definitely didn't want to.

"Fine. Work around it."

He decided he wouldn't let go of consciousness either, not until they found Alan.

But it seemed he didn't have much choice in the matter. He slipped away again.

  


**______________**

  


It was barely daybreak when Billy awoke inside the helicopter. He was buckled in securely, even though they weren't flying—just sitting and waiting to take off at a moment's notice. 

Which meant Alan and the others still hadn't been found. _Come on, damn you. I held up my end of the bargain. Your turn._

He looked around, surprised that he'd regained use of a few muscles. It stung like a bitch to twist his neck over, but he managed to make eye contact with a man in a medic's uniform observing him.

"Sir!" the medic called. Billy momentarily wondered if the medic was addressing him, but his wonder ceased when an officer came over to stand beside his stretcher, clipboard in hand.

"Can you tell me your name?" the officer inquired, his head mostly concealed with aviators and a white flight helmet. Billy recognized the voice from earlier, on the beach.

He managed to croak it out, and in turn, it was scratched onto the clipboard. 

"Are you with Dr. Grant?" was the next question.

Billy only stared through drowsy eyes, a pit suddenly heavy in his stomach as his mind spun. _With? What? How could he possibly—?_

"Are you in the same party as Dr. Grant? Are you associated?" he clarified, oblivious to the way Billy had interpreted it. _Oh._

". . . Yes." Billy tried to nod instinctively, only to be sharply reminded that it was a bad idea.

The officer looked dubiously at Billy, as if his delayed response was cause for suspicion. But he didn't voice his concern, only continued, "Do you know where Dr. Grant is?"

"No, but we. . . we were attempting to make it to shore, down the river." He had no real idea where they were, but they had to be far from the Pteranodon cage by now.

A voice interjected from somewhere Billy couldn't see. "He must mean the other tributary, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." The officer kept his attention on Billy. "And he was alive last you saw him, correct?"

" _Yes_." Despite his confident answer, he felt ready to pass out. The pain was quickly getting worse again, and his wincing told the medic as much.

"How bad is the pain, Mr. Brennan?" he asked.

"Bad," Billy admitted. He noticed that he now sported clean white bandages, well, _everywhere_ , but they weren't helping his agony a whole lot.

The medic nodded under his own helmet and stood up, coming over to push a syringe dose into the IV above. After a quick check of his pupil dilation and vitals, the medic returned to his spot. The officer had disappeared from sight, presumably toward the cockpit.

The physical suffering began to ease, but as the minutes wore on, the drugs couldn't stop his increasing worry for Alan. Dread snaked its way into his heart, of the possibility that, maybe, he was alone after all.

_No._ He couldn't accept it.

The hat was cradled in Billy's arm, two fingers stroking the brim once more. It was still as much of a lifesaver as it had been in the river.

Because it meant he'd be coming back for it. Alan needed his hat. He'd never leave it for good.

  


**______________**

  


Crackling static was what woke him next. A fuzzy voice from a walkie-talkie was the one sound filling the small metal cabin, but Billy could only hear the intensity of the garbled message, not the meaning—good or bad.

On the roof, motors stirred and hummed, the limp blades starting to spin. They were leaving! _Without Alan! Dammit!_

"What's going. . ." Billy began to ask, but the noise was already enough to drown out his soft words. The medic, buckled in across from him, noticed his mouth moving and tried to shout something. When Billy's eyebrows knitted together, failing to understand, the medic tried hand gestures. And when that didn't work, he gave up and broke eye contact with his patient.

They flew for what felt like forever, and Billy began to fear that they were leaving the island altogether. 

Without Alan.

The helicopter finally descended. He heard military chatter when the blades quit. 

So that was it. They were on a carrier.

But waves crashed outside and Billy realized, his heart in his throat, that they'd merely landed on a different stretch of beach.

The medic unfastened himself and explained, "We've found them."

Billy's eyes widened as far as they would go, which wasn't far at all. "Dr. Grant?"

The medic shook his head and nearly gave him a heart attack before shrugging and adding, "I don't know."

_Great._

  


**______________**

  


Something was happening. People were shouting.

In the chaotic chorus, a boy yelled—Eric. At least he'd made it, if no one else.

A mob grew closer to the open door of the helicopter. Now there was a woman talking—Mrs. Kirby. That's two.

He tried to push it down, the hope, because if he was wrong. . . he wasn't sure how he—

Feet stomped onto the metal floor. The helicopter started its engine. Seatbelts were being pulled.

The medic had returned to check his pupil dilation before liftoff, clicking the blinding light into his eyes. _Awesome timing._

And then—

"Dr. Grant."

"Yeah."

"Is this man with you?" Someone was asking a question, a question to _Dr. Grant_.

Billy heard a confused voice respond with, "What?" This time, it really was _his_ voice. _Alan._

The medic finished. Billy shut his eyes, trying to recover from the bright overload.

He opened them, hardly turning his neck by the time Alan knelt down beside him, gripping the rail support of the stretcher tightly with his left hand. Relief washed over Billy as Alan looked down at him in awe. The man was whole, only a little cut up and out of breath.

He searched for a sign in Alan's face that he was still angry or disappointed, but he couldn't find any. They both regretted what had been said, what they did, and in that moment when their eyes met, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Indeed, the only thing writ on Alan's face was pure wonder, gentle and open, at the fact that _Billy_ was alive.

Billy found the muscles in his face, willing them to reflect the exultant joy rising up in his chest. They worked just fine, and he broke into one of the goofy grins he knew Alan loved so much.

"Hey, you made it." He stated the obvious, an attempt to force the truth to sink into his soul.

"Yeah." Alan nodded, looking bone tired and like he was having difficulty believing the fact himself. Something between a wry and a genuine smile played upon his lips, and he raised his eyebrows in a way Billy knew meant, _'Look who's talking.'_

Alan, next to him, alive. Billy was so lost in the sight that he nearly forgot he still had the damned hat tucked under his arm. It had managed to slip out of reach of his fingers, which instead were now absentmindedly stroking the slick nylon of the seatbelt securing him.

But he didn't forget. Billy lifted his mummy-wrapped forearm to grab it up again before saying, simply but proudly, "I rescued your hat."

He wanted to explain further, to tell him, no, it was more than that, that his hat had rescued him. _He'd_ rescued him. 

But before his slow, doped tongue allowed Billy another sentence, the air was filled with a voice clamoring for Alan to get seated. After a distracted acknowledgement, Alan met Billy's offer and delicately reclaimed the hat, replying, "Well, _that's_ the important thing."

Billy basked in the man's sense of humor again, his grin only waning when Alan, after one last, knowing smile and a gentle pat on his shoulder with the rim of the hat, finally left to find a seat. He couldn't stay next to Billy for the ride, no matter how much they both wanted him to.

Though faltered, Billy held onto a small smile, closing his eyes as the chopper roared louder, blades beating as strong as his heart.

The words they didn't say would have to wait. 

And he'd wait. But after that. . .

Billy let out an inaudible sigh. The knowledge that Alan was only a few feet from him, watching over him, was enough to let him fall asleep peacefully. To sleep, and to heal.

  


**______________**

  



End file.
